


even diseases can reach the moles

by mania_sama



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dream team smp, mcyt
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Cussing, Drugs, Gen, Its before Technoblade joined but after they reach the cave, Its not gory but still read at your own risk, I’ve never been good with tags uh, Medicine, Minor Angst, One Shot, Pills, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sick Character, Sickfic, Symbolism, This is entirely platonic, i have no idea either so, i promise this story is good i just can’t tag, if you are wondering what the illness is, please do not take this story as shippy in any kind of way, sick!tommy, so does wilbur, tommy cusses a lot, why am I so bad at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mania_sama/pseuds/mania_sama
Summary: Tommy falls ill below the ground, and there is only one person that can help.—•—•—-LOWERCASE INTENDED FOR TITLE-—•—•—Posted to Wattpad as well.—•—•—If any of the MCYTs in this fanfiction ever say that they are uncomfortable with being in this fanfiction, I will not hesitate to take it down.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 201





	1. even diseases can reach the moles

Tommy leaned against the stone walls uncomfortably, shifting to find a position where neither his butt nor his back hurt. He knew it would be nearly impossible to find the optimum spot, as he went through this process every single damn day since they set up base in the caved-in ravine.

His body was sore from the day’s work and previous nights sleep. Everything hurt. Constantly. He was so utterly done with it. They could’ve picked somewhere else to hide out, maybe a village further out, but no. They chose a ravine. A cold, dark, and sometimes wet ravine. Well, now that he thought about it, the ravine did seem to be getting a bit warmer these past few days. Maybe he should bring it up with Wilbur.

Tommy turned his head to where Wilbur usually sleeps. He had a blanket draped over his body, and he appeared to be fast asleep. As much of an asshole as he normally felt like being, Tommy understood that this was not the time to wake him up. In truth, he needed the most sleep he could get. Wilbur was losing his mind everyday, so seeing him sleep peacefully was like a gift from the heavens.

A critter scurried nearby, causing the boy to startle from the place in his mind. He rubbed at his eyes, just as he felt that his nose was burning. He moved to scratch at his nose, but the liquid that dawned his lips told him a whole story. He swiped at the blood streaming from one of his nostrils, wiping it on his pants in disgust. He got up hastily in search of tissues. He checked everywhere for them— under tables, inside chests, and even in the darkest parts of the ravine that he hated the most. There was nothing there for him, and the blood was now staining his shirt. He sighed and reached for his bandana, which was just newly washed, courtesy of Tubbo. He wiped off the blood on his skin and proceeded to stick the bandana up his nostril to stop the bleeding. He hesitantly pinched his nose and breathed through his mouth. He needed to do this for around 10 minutes, but he barely had any sense of time. He took one more glance at Wilbur before walking up the steep, not well-built staircase to the surface. He needed to watch the moon so he could tell a bit of time. 

Despite his less than favorable reputation, he did listen to some of the things his peers and adults said to him. Especially the health advice, because he actually did care about what happened to his body, even if he hated it most of the time. Nosebleeds were an easy fix for the most part, and were only a problem if they kept happening again and again. This was his first nosebleed since they had cleaned up the stupid ravine, so he should be fine.

Tommy sat down, criss cross style, and stared at the night sky. The stars glistened with the crescent move. It was pretty, well, as pretty as a sky can get. He’d never been a star-gazer or anything. He couldn’t care less about the stars and sky or whatever, he was just doing this to pass the time. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn’t plan on sleeping at the moment, since it could make his nosebleed worse. Instead, he did it to think as positively as he could, which was hard considering that his eyes were now in a lot of pain for whatever goddamn reason. He hates his body, and his body hates him. It’s the only mutual relationship he had in his life.

Tubbo was due to come back in one week. He had visited yesterday to return washed clothes, new items, and new intel on the enemy. Tommy wished he had requested tissues, a fan, and an AC unit. Also a juicy hamburger. He hadn’t had one of these in a long time.

He cringed at his own thoughts, realizing he was becoming homesick. He didn’t need this right now. The times were as they were, and there was nothing much he could do about it until the right moment. Tommy could wish and wish and wish, but they would be all for nothing. He could wallow in self-pity, or actually do something for himself and Wilbur. _Stop it,_ he thought. _Just stop._

Well, he did stop his thoughts, but on the other hand, he started moving his body again. He let go of his nose and carefully took the bandana out of his nostril. It was just as he expected— dark red, almost brown colored blood covered the area that was in his nose. It looked horribly disgusting, causing Tommy to gag out loud.

He made his way down the stairs again, and entered the horrible place that is the ravine. His mood immediately darkened, and he missed the lighter feeling he had at the surface. Tommy wasn’t generally a happy person, but he could tell the difference between a bad mood and a less-bad mood. He placed the bandana on top of his personal chest, knowing that this was just going to add on to the smell of blood that never seemed to leave him, no matter how much he cleaned and washed the place.

He hated it. He hated all of it.

He settled back down in his earlier position, giving in to his tired state, which seemed to be becoming more frequent recently. A frown replaced a neutral expression as he crossed his arms in a further attempt to sleep. Maybe he was trying to protect himself against his mind, because in truth, he also hated sleeping. He _despised_ the nightmares that always followed him in his subconsciousness.

—•—•—

He coughed, wracking his whole body. He felt weak in his limbs, and sweat dripped down his face and neck. Wilbur had been looking at him worriedly, occasionally making concerning comments regarding Tommy’s state. Tommy waved them off as best he could, saying that it would all be fine. He complained to himself though, cussing out his cursed body for making Wilbur worry about him. And yeah, he felt absolutely miserable as well. He wanted to call it quits and not do anything for the remainder of the day, but he had important stuff to do, and that was hunting for rats, beetles, and spiders that could potentially kill them.

He coughed again, and this time his eyes started to ache terribly. He made his way, slowly, to Wilbur. Said man turned around from his own work, eyes wide. Tommy attempted to say something, anything, but his voice failed him. His vision was spotty, but he could see Wilbur reach out to him. Everything suddenly went numb, and he fell forward with his mind trapped inside itself.

—•—•—

Wilbur carried his little brother’s body to a laid out blanket with a makeshift pillow. His mind was going ninety miles an hour, thinking of whatever the hell could’ve happened to Tommy. After laying him down, he checked all of the supplies he had. Cough drops. He had cough drops. What the hell.

Every nook and cranny was searched, scavenging the ravine for any items. He found bandages, cream, and certain other miscellaneous things for wounds, but barely anything for disease. He did find a potion, but he had put all that aside for after he… you know, he didn’t want to think about that. There were more pressing issues at hand. Tommy’s life was resting on his ability to find medicine, yet for some goddamn reason, _they didn’t have any_.

Tubbo wasn’t due to come for a while, and looking at Tommy’s state, he wouldn’t last for that long. A horrid cough echoed through the ravine, and he noticed that, although his eyes were closed and still asleep, the boy was shivering. Wilbur got another blanket and placed it on top of his brother. Wilbur feared that if he stayed too close, he too would catch whatever Tommy had. He couldn’t afford both of them at death’s door.

There was a bandana laid on Tommy’s chest, one he failed to ask his little brother about before he fell. He picked it up, examining the dried blood. This had happened at night, when Wilbur had slept for once. He _knew_ he shouldn't have been sleeping.

He was stuck in a rut. He didn’t know what to do, with so little supplies left for him to use. He thought of the people he had contact with, people that he could trust. Tubbo: Unavailable for six days. Quackity: Rarely comes by; untrustworthy. Niki: Unavailable. Fundy: Unavailable. Eret: No. 

The list climbed and climbed, until he reached the last person he wanted to interact with, but in theory was the most reliable option. He stepped outside the base, Tommy and a certain other person on his mind. He set his shoulders forward and locked his eyes on a distant land. He would borrow Tommy’s stolen horse for now, and made a mental note to apologize later. The wind billowed and ruffled his hair as he urged the skeleton horse on. He had absolutely no time to waste.

—•—•—

_Blood. So much blood. Wilbur— Tubbo— they were at his feet. Their eyes were misty, and they weren’t moving. No matter how much he shook them, they didn’t get up._

Tommy’s eyes flitted open, and then he immediately closed them with the migraine that charged at him. He attempted a few more times to keep his eyes open, eventually succeeding. He then tried to sit up, but his arms gave out under him, which caused his head to hurt more. He coughed, doubling over on his side. His throat hurt like all of hell was packed into the little space in his neck.

He cursed to himself, too tired to move his body again. Complete silence deafened his ears, causing a ringing sound to add on to his suffering. He almost cried, from the pure pain he felt and the fact that he was going through this inside of a cave. Alone. _Where the fuck is Wilbur?_

He wanted Wilbur back. Even in his half-sane state, he could at least try to help Tommy. Yeah, Tommy was a bit of an asshole, but that doesn’t make him unworthy of being helped. He liked to think that, anyway. Maybe it was God playing tricks on him, to punish him for all that he’s done in the past. He thought he’d already been punished enough, what with the fact that he was banished from the land that he built and fought for, alongside a man whose mental state is that of a dump truck.

He wasn’t helping himself at all, but there was nothing he _could_ do. He felt hot, but at the same time, he was shaking like an unstable roller coaster. He felt highly uncomfortable lying in his own pool of sweat. He coughed again. _Shit._ Blood fell down to his chin and chest, creating new stains on the blanket that was, at some point, draped on him. Tubbo was going to use a lot of bleach for their clothes and sheets.

He laid in silence, unable to go back to sleep with his mind occupied on both his pain and his worry for Wilbur. He didn’t know where he was, and in honesty, he hated when Wilbur left. Wilbur says insane things all of the time, and he was afraid that he would go and act on his homicidal and slightly suicidal sayings. He’s woken up to Wilbur pacing with his hands shaking, and then suddenly saying he was going to leave the ravine for a while. Most of the time, Tommy was able to convince him to go the hell to sleep. Not this time, because Tommy simply had to pass out.

After a while, Tommy heard a voice. Two voices. He jolted, coming to the conclusion rather quickly that someone had come to kill him. He couldn’t defend himself, and Wilbur wasn’t here. Like hell he was going to go down without a fight, though— he just had to get up and get a weapon. Anything. He used his strength to feel for an object, and he found a knife hidden under the jacket used as a pillow. It was nice and sharp, perfect for stabbing a horned man in the ribs. There were no more voices, but footsteps got louder and sounded throughout the area. His shaking increased, but he refused to admit he was scared. No, he wasn’t. It was just his adrenaline preparing him to fight for his life while he could barely focus on one object. The world was swirling around him when he saw Wilbur’s body descending down the steps. He relaxed, but only for a moment, because he remembered there being two voices, not just one.

“You’re awake!” Wilbur shouted, and he started running down the steps. Following him at a slower pace was the person that haunted his nightmares when he slept at night, and was the cause for most of his problems. That stupid mask was staring right at him; he could taste the resentment in his mouth. Or maybe that was blood.

He dissolved into a bout of coughing and dropped his knife. The blanket caught the sharp object from hurting himself. This coughing was worse than the other ones— more blood came out. He sat up, this time using his energy to make it all the way. He shivered with the heat and cold battling against each other, and he picked up the knife again, guarding his chest closely as Wilbur quickly appeared by his side. He trained his eyes on Dream the best he could, holding back coughs to prevent himself from dropping his only weapon again.

“Tommy, put the knife down. He isn’t going to hurt you.” _He is. He’s going to hurt you and I. He has and he will again._ “You’re going to live.” Tommy put the knife down with hesitation, and Wilbur snatched it away, pocketing it in his trench coat. He noticed that Dream was carrying a bag with him, and Tommy had to assume that it had medical supplies in it. The man headed straight for Wilbur and Tommy, his face hidden. The boy scrunched up slightly in a flimsy attempt at defense, shivering with even more intensity.

He was hyperventilating, which he just then realized he’d been doing ever since he woke up. Dream dropped the bag in front of Tommy, kneeling on his knee. He unzipped and looked through his bag as Tommy let out all of the coughs that he’d stocked up. Red liquid splattered the blanket yet again.

Dream withdrew a bottle, which Tommy assumed was medicine. He swished it around before opening the cap and pouring in a shit ton of the liquid that looked more like slime than something drinkable. He moved to sit beside Tommy, dragging his bag with him. The boy leaned away from the man, not trusting what was supposed to be his savior. “You have to drink this.”

Tommy tried to speak, but choked up on his words and coughed instead. He shook his head vigorously in substitute, despite the pain and dizziness that it caused. Dream tilted his mask from the ill to Wilbur. “Hold him.” In the flash of an eye, Wilbur’s hands were holding him down to the ground, pressing against his shoulders. One of his knees was pressed against Tommy’s arm, and Dream used his knee to hold down the other.

Tommy fucked up, to say the least. He closed his lips in the last line of defense, but Dream easily pried open his mouth to pour the medicine down his throat. He forced the boy’s mouth shut so he didn’t spit it right back out. Tommy had two choices: One, swallow the medicine. Two: Choke until Dream opens his mouth or Wilbur forces him to. He choked at first, but then quickly decided that was not fun and swallowed the horrid medicine. Dream quickly filled another thing of a different medicine, and Tommy figured the same process was gonna happen if he didn’t comply. He didn’t like complying, but he didn’t like choking either. So, he settled with opening his mouth and coughing on Dream’s mask when he got the chance.

Dream muttered under his breath, but the boy swallowed the medicine cleanly this time, so he went back to finding more medication. “Thank you, Tommy.” Wilbur said to him, a strained smile on his face. “I promise he’s helping you.” He didn’t seem entirely confident, but it was better than telling Tommy he was being poisoned by his worst enemy. Tommy watched Dream again, his movements fast, finding the right things to give to the sick. He finally pulled up a pill bottle, making the boy groan in distaste, which in turn caused another coughing spell.

The masked man offered him a water bottle, which Tommy just stared at. Dream realized his very dumb mistake and opened the bottle himself. He wondered how this idiot ended up being the one balancing Tommy’s life in his hands. He wanted to say something, but a cough reminded him that he could not do that. “You’re going to drink this to swallow the pills so you don’t choke.” Dream said, his back still turned as he picked out two pills.

Dream swiveled back around and paused. He took off one of his gloves, and then reached out with his hand,— the one not holding the water and pills— dragging his fingers across Tommy’s upper lip. _What the actual fuck._ Now that was just too far. Tommy tried to bite his finger but Dream pulled away before that could happen. He examined his own fingers before turning them around and showing Tommy what was wrong. “Your nose is bleeding.” Wilbur chipped in unhelpfully. Tommy narrowed his eyes. He could see the blood on Dream’s hand. He wasn’t an idiot like him and could actually use his eyesight.

Tissues were quickly and uncomfortably stuffed up both of his nostrils, and Wilbur finally let go of him to sit him up. He coughed, and Dream took that opportunity to put the pills in Tommy’s mouth, quickly shoving the water in after it. Tommy closed his mouth, refusing to swallow. Dream, upset, pulled out a syringe. “I have anesthesia. Do you want me to stick you with a needle?” He threatened. Wilbur stayed silent, allowing this exchange to happen. Tommy couldn’t even argue, with his throat all fucked up. He did not like the look of that needle, so he swallowed the stupid pills.

Another pill was aligned in his eyesight, and just then, Tommy felt like giving Dream hell for making him take _anything_ from him. He closed his mouth shut, using his free arm to swipe at the syringe. Dream was fast, though, and had the syringe placed against the crook in his other arm in no time. The cold point of the needle was poking at his skin, and if there was one thing he hated more than medicine, it was shots. It freaked him out more than he cared to admit to anyone. Giving in to fate, he opened his palm for the huge-ass pill. He popped it into his mouth, water chasing right after it.

The syringe didn’t leave his arm as Dream explained to him and Wilbur the dosages and routines of the medication. Dream couldn’t give a direct answer as to what illness Tommy had, but as long as it was treated, it didn’t really matter, did it? That was the mentality the boy forced himself to have, because he would go insane if he didn’t. He still very much disliked his whole situation, but he knew where the line was. Sometimes.

Dream eventually stood up, pocketing the syringe. He made no move to take his bag, and instead raised a hand to shake with Wilbur. Tommy watched in disgust, helpless. “I’ll be back in two weeks to pick up my supplies.” His head turned back and forth to look at the exiles. “Take care, now.” The glove went back on his hand as he stalked away.

Wilbur sighed when the man disappeared from sight. “I’m sorry, Tommy. He was the best option.” He sounded genuinely apologetic, which made Tommy feel bad for only a second. Unable to speak, he lifted his hands to show a middle finger to both Wilbur and Dream’s respective directions.

_I hate Dream._

—•—•—

The door clicked softly behind him, the breeze nearly taking his hoodie down from his head. He brought it down anyway, just so he could run a hand through his hair. He walked at a fast pace, needing to get home eventually.

He picked the syringe out of his pocket, examining the liquid inside. It really was anesthesia, but he had no idea how to use it. If he really had stuck Tommy with it, he probably wouldn’t have woken up. It was a risk that Dream never planned to take, and relied entirely upon the assumption that Tommy was just as easy to manipulate as everyone else.

On the same token, he couldn’t leave the syringe with those two. Leaving pills of any kind was a dangerous dance, considering Wilbur's history with drugs. From what he understood, Tommy only dealt them, and didn’t take any for himself. Still, he had to trust that Wilbur was too out of his mind to take anything. The syringe, however, was a different story. It was a valuable weapon, and can kill much easier than any of the drugs he left with the exiles. Dream had to keep this with himself.

He lifted his head to stare at the night sky through his mask. It was awfully pretty out, fit for the life he just saved. He was a star-gazer, as the different constellations had always been an interesting topic for him.

From an outside point of view, Dream was a good guy. He just saved the life of his enemy, for God’s sake! But, he knew better. He couldn’t care less about Tommy’s health. He just cared about what would happen to the other people if he were to kick the bucket. He could lose what connections he had with Wilbur, and everything would go to chaos too quickly. Tubbo could break ties with Schlatt, and that would ruin even _more_ things. Tommy’s life was valuable, one that Dream could not afford to lose for his own sake.

He smiled behind his mask, realizing how much joy he received from having people’s lives in his hands. Ones that he could crush if he wanted to.

Dream laughed at nothing. _I love being the bad guy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on a whim, because if I didn't get it out somewhere I might've imploded. If you saw any mistakes, please let me know in the comments. Thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day and/or night.


	2. Plot Elements in "even diseases can reach the moles"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't part of the story, but rather explains what certain elements I put into my one-shot. You don't have to read this, but it is available for anyone who is curious!

**Tommy’s hate:**

In Tommy’s point of view, the reader may notice that, in his internal monologue, he says that he “hates” various things quite a lot. He does this so much that you might be able to tell that this anger is his way of trying to convince himself that he isn’t the problem. In his subconscious, however, he knows that all of the distaste is actually towards himself. He could never admit this, though, so that’s why all of his “hate” is shown being directed at his surroundings. Only in certain moments can you see his shield crack a bit, such as when he references Wilbur and then proceeds to call himself an asshole.

* * *

**Parallelism between Tommy and Dream:**

As stated before, Tommy is shown hating everything. At the very end of this one-shot, Dream smiles and thinks, “[He] love[s] being the bad guy.” Not once does Tommy ever state that even so much as “likes” something, but on the other hand, Dream never says he “dislikes” anything, either. They both use strong emotions to express how they feel, yet on very opposite ends of the spectrum. Dream is also the one who is more well-off than Tommy is, and that could be connected to his language. Dream loves himself, while Tommy doesn’t. That self-confidence is the reason why Dream has so much control, and Tommy’s lack of self-esteem is the reason why he had no control.

* * *

**Familial relationship between Tommy and Wilbur:**

In Wilbur’s point of view, he refers to Tommy as his “little brother” multiple times, and that was when the reader first realizes that in this one-shot, they are related. Tommy never mentions that Wilbur is his brother, and instead only calling him his “friend.” This is to show the divide that Tommy has forced open to separate himself from Wilbur in case something terrible were to happen involving his brother. This is a trauma response, due to the fact that Tommy is experiencing chronic fear from living with someone who is going insane and posing a threat to both himself and others everyday. Wilbur has not created that divide because he is not the one experiencing the fear, but rather causing it.

* * *

**Critters in the ravine:**

This is more of a simple plot element that I put in for fun. Near the beginning of this story, Tommy is spooked by a creature scurrying around. Then, later on, he is hunting creatures in the ravine, which is suggesting that he made Wilbur aware of what he heard, and they both realized that the ravine could be filling up with critters that they need to get rid of.

* * *

**Cause of the disease:**   


With a weakened mindset, Tommy gains a more vulnerable immune system. Repeated stress can cause increased exposure to illness and disease, in which happened to Tommy. The specific name of the disease itself isn’t important, but the cause and effect was. If it wasn’t treated as quickly as it did, it would’ve killed Tommy. This could even be viewed that Wilbur killed him, since he was the cause of the stress in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions about why I put certain things into my story, please let me know and I'll be happy to answer! If you saw any mistakes, please let me know in the comments so I can fix them, I do appreciate it! Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day and/or night.


End file.
